Lethal Lasagna (18 page)

Fresh tears filled my eyes as I relived those moments of finding her. Tears I was determined not to let fall. I took a deep breath and slowly released it before looking across at Brandon.

He sat his cup down and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine. “She was more than a friend wasn’t she?”

I nodded. “We weren’t sisters by birth but we were as close as any blood sisters could ever be.” His palm scratched mine. I wondered what Brandon did that would create calluses on his hands. Editing papers surely hadn’t created the rough skin.

“Then I am doubly sorry for your loss.” His voice sounded sincere and strong. He squeezed my hand and then released it.

I missed the warmth immediately. “Thank you.” I picked up my teacup and traced the blue china design that decorated the sides.

As if talking to himself, Brandon said. “I wonder how far the police have gotten in their investigation.” He took a drink from his cup before looking at me.

Where was my willpower? “They know now that she was poisoned.” I offered then gulped the now lukewarm tea. The flavor of honey teased my tongue.

He sat his cup down slowly. “Poisoning?” Brandon’s voice sounded so low and soft I questioned whether or not I’d heard him right.

I nodded.

He studied the wall behind me for several long moments. “Claire, how would you feel if I offered to help you find Mitzi’s murderer?”

Excitement raced through my veins. How would I feel? My first instinct was to squeal with happiness. I’d love to get to know this man better. My second reaction was to say no. Again, I had to ask myself, what did I know about him? My third thought was, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking by the expressions on my face.

As if he knew the turmoil my thoughts were going through, Brandon offered, “Mitzi was a friend of mine, too.” He paused. It seemed to me he was debating what to say next. Then he spoke again. “The creative writing class is a three month course. We cover whatever genres the students wish to write. A little over a month ago, we covered poisons for the mystery writers. I can’t help but think that maybe something I said had something to do with Mitzi’s death. More than ever, I’d like to help catch her murderer.”I met his sorrow-filled gaze and made the decision that it would be nice to have someone to discuss things with. Since this is all new to me, Brandon would probably have a better insight on how to go about finding a killer. He was a writer after all.

“Ok, I guess the first thing we need to know is who the mystery writers are in your class. And do you think we should tell the police what you just told me?” I leaned forward.

Brandon sighed and seemed to relax. “I’m not sure who the mystery writers are.”

“How can you not know?”

He leaned and met me halfway across the table. It was then I realized just how small the café’s tables were. I watched his mouth as he said, “When the course began I asked the class collectively who wrote what.” I must have frowned because he continued. “You know I said something like, ‘do we have any children’s authors?’ And so on. As each group raised their hands I wrote ‘yes’ beside that genre on my paper.”

“I see. So you created assignments for those genres and then had the class write collectively for each?” The words came out in a whisper. I ignored the breathiness of my answer, telling myself it was the quiet tone and not the man across the table.

He nodded.

How were we going to find out who the mystery writers were in his class?

Brandon smiled. “Looks like you have to attend my class again.”

“Why?” Excitement soared into my chest. Did he really want me there? Stop it Claire. This is about Mitzi not you. Besides, I had planned on going anyway but why did he feel I had to attend?

In whispered tones he answered. “Because Monday I’m going to ask everyone what they write again, and you can write down their answers.”

I scooted back in my seat. The distance helped me deny him this task. “Sorry Professor, but that’s not happening.”

A startled look crossed his face. He reacted as if I’d just slapped him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, just have everyone write down on a piece of paper what they write. We’ll still get our answer.”

“So, while I’m pumping my students for answers what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be there but as a student. I’m not sure I want everyone to know why I’m really attending this class. If we don’t come across any suspects, we’ll need to turn the list over to the detective. He’ll want to know about the contest.”

“That makes sense. I’ll take care of getting a record of my students to him and telling him about the final exam, not contest. What’s your next step?” He asked.

“Sunday morning I’m going to go to her church.”

A grin broadened on his face. “You seriously expect to find the killer attending her church?”

When he said it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous. But it was possible. “I don’t know but it is one of the few places Mitzi socialized.”

The smile slipped from his lips and eyes. “I suppose so.”

Once more, I wondered how well he knew Mitzi. Had they dated? Or were they just friends like he said? If there had been romantic sparks, why hadn’t Mitzi told me about them?

Later that evening, I finished grilling my cheese sandwich and carried it to the table. At the same time, the microwave dinged announcing the bowl of tomato soup was done. I placed both on a large dining tray and headed to the living room. My favorite game show had just come on.

While the contestants introduced themselves I thought about Brandon Harvest. I hate to admit it, but it disturbs me that Mitzi and Brandon might have been closer than just friends.

Just before leaving the college, he’d offered me a class list of names, which I snatched up and tucked into my purse. Now what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just call them all up and ask if they’d killed my best friend. That would just be tacky.

Warm buttery cheese teased my taste buds. On the television, a woman wearing a bright green top and the nametag that read “Florence” had just spun the wheel and landed on the three hundred dollar marker.

The category was “Thing,” and there were three words to fill in. I sipped at the hot soup as Florence asked for an M and got one. Then she did something I hate, she asked to buy a vowel. The crazy woman chose a U, which wasn’t in the puzzle.

It was the next contestant’s turn. He was a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. It reflected the light each time he bent over to spin the wheel. The thought he should do something about that crossed my mind as he spun the wheel and landed on the five hundred marker. He chose an S and got three of them. Then he asked for a vowel. Again I groaned.

This time the request was for an A, which he didn’t get. The game continued. Slowly I made out the words Single Stem Rose. The player who got it had a total of three hundred dollars. He could have continued guessing at the consonants and gotten more money but he was too anxious.

“Dumber than mud,” I grumbled, picking up the dinner tray and heading back to the kitchen during the commercial. Normally I would pick up the phone and call Mitzi but not tonight, not ever again. My gaze moved to the phone on the wall.

There were a number of women friends I could call. Gloria Fielding’s name came to mind, but I felt a twang of guilt. Mitzi was the one I shared these silly calls with. To call someone else was like saying Mitzi no longer mattered. It was betraying our friendship. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.

I hurried back to the living room and forced myself to become absorbed in the game show but Mitzi stayed on my mind.

TITLE

Chapter 14

Venturing into the unfamiliar waters of flirtation, I answered. “Why thank you kind Sir. I’m so glad you noticed.”

His warm laughter greeted my ears and warmed my heart. We moved into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

“Thanks.” He looked out the window that faced Sara’s house. A frown marred his handsome features.

My gaze moved to where he seemed to be looking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Why was he frowning? He looked lost in thought, maybe it was personal. I decided not to question him about it. If it were something important, or had anything to do with me, I felt sure he’d say something.

I put coffee in the filter and then turned on the coffee maker. “How does eggs and bacon sound?”

“Great.”

Pulling the eggs from the fridge I asked, “How would you like them fixed?” I set the carton on the counter and reached for the bacon.

He turned from the window and grinned. “Scrambled and crispy.”

I smiled. “Me, too.” I ducked my head and went to work preparing my knight in shining armor a breakfast fit for a king.

Soon the fragrant smell of coffee and bacon filled my cozy kitchen. I popped bread into the toaster. Scrambled eggs and set butter and strawberry jam on the table. While I worked I noted that Brandon continued to gaze out the window.

I set plates and silverware down. “Something bothering you?” I asked as I placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

He smiled. “Not really. I was just thinking that if you hung a feeder in front of this window, you could watch the birds while you enjoyed breakfast every morning.”

I poured scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl. I didn’t buy his story for one moment. But went along with it just the same. “I’ve had the same thought but just haven’t taken the time to hang one.” I added the glass coffee pot to the assortment of breakfast items and took my place.

“Would you like me to give thanks?” He asked, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.

I nodded and bowed my head. His warm voice washed over me as he thanked the Lord for the food, my safety, and our friendship. I echoed his, “Amen.”

“Do you cook like this every morning?” He asked, after swallowing a bite of eggs.

I buttered my toast. “Not always; why?”

“Well, if I’m going to continue to protect my fair maiden, I want to know what kind of meals I can expect.” He took a cautious sip of coffee and then grinned over the rim of the cup.

I almost dropped the butter knife. “I’m far from a maiden, and I really don’t need protecting, Brandon. It was sweet of you to stay last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t necessary.”

“Ah, but that is where we disagree. Someone wants to kill or hurt you, that makes my staying on the front porch crucial. As long as I’m here, I don’t think the mysterious baker will be making house calls again.” He forked more food in his mouth.

His behavior and the stubbornness of his jaw said that no matter how much I argued he wasn’t going to back down. In all honesty, I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t let him know that.

“Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do you plan on staying?” I nibbled on my toast.

He swallowed. “Until Mitzi’s killer is caught. I’m sure that you have ruffled his feathers and I, for one, do not want to see you hurt.”

“Brandon, that could be months.” The thought of having him on my front porch for months seemed extreme, but I did like the idea of having him close.

“Maybe. If it does, I’ll just have to make the front porch more comfortable.” He poured himself more coffee.

I couldn’t imagine him spending a month on my porch. “I have a guest room. You can stay there, if you insist on staying.” My coffee needed chocolate. I got up and found some in the pantry.

“No. I won’t have your reputation tarnished because I moved into the house.” Brandon protested.

The laugh burst from my lips. “Come on, we aren’t living in the eighteen hundreds.”

His serious eyes met my laughing ones. “No, but we are still Christians, and I’ll not have people talking trash about us and ruining our Lord’s reputation at the same time.”

The words talking trash weren’t something I would have expected to come from a professor’s mouth, but when he said it like that, I realized he was right. “Man, I hate it when you’re right. OK. How are we going to make the porch comfortable?”

“I’ve got a cot at my house that I sleep on sometimes. It’s comfortable and will fit in that snug cove you’ve created with the potted plants and flowers.” He pushed away from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink.

I stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? It might be easier just to ask the police to patrol the neighborhood at night.” I replaced the butter and jam in the fridge.

“Not on your life. I’m staying, and that’s final. You’ll see; it will be no trouble at all.” He opened the dishwasher and put our plates, silverware, and cups inside.

I wiped the table off and replaced my potted plant in the center. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance out of this mess.”

He moved across the floor and pulled me into his embrace. His breath smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. “As long as you are in danger, we’re in this mess together.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

It felt like he kissed the top of my head before he released me and headed toward the door. He stopped in the entryway. “If you don’t have anything pressing to do today, would you like to come to the house and help me gather up that cot and some sheets?”

The thought of spending more time with him tickled me to the toes. I tried not to express how pleased I felt at his invitation. “Sure. As long as we get back here by lunchtime.”

“Not a problem.”

****

I was surprised to learn that Brandon didn’t live that far from me. His two-story house sat beside the lake. Trees lined the shore, and ducks swam about giving the place a sense of serenity.

“With a house like this, why do you sleep on a cot?” I tucked my purse against my side, as he led the way through the garage.

He laughed and opened a side door into a spacious kitchen. “I don’t always sleep on the cot. Just when I go camping.”

“So you aren’t crazy?” I laughed as I followed him through a comfy living room. Its interior held hunter green and soft tan hues. A large couch, recliner, and big screen TV filled most of the room. I noticed a bookshelf and fish tank occupied one corner with plush looking chair and matching end table in the other.